


FF#3 - Too Far, Too Fast

by bobs



Series: Arrow Flash Fiction [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobs/pseuds/bobs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Felicity. Talk to me. Let me help you,” he says gently, brow furrowed as he watches her shoulders jerk.</p><p>She laughs harshly. “I think you’ve helped enough.” She doesn’t lift her head so her words are muffled, and although the words hurt, he can tell there’s not much sentiment behind them. She just sounds tired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FF#3 - Too Far, Too Fast

**Author's Note:**

> A delayed entry for Flash Fiction Prompt #3.
> 
> It's my first attempt to write from Oliver's point of view. I hope I did him justice. Takes place sometime in the not so distant future. Established Olicity. Enjoy!

When Oliver gets to Felicity’s apartment he’s tired and cold and impatient. He knocks, only because the last time he entered without announcing himself, Felicity had tossed an entire bowl of popcorn into the air and then made him clean up every last kernel, and then walks in without waiting for a response.

The living room is quiet and dark. Oliver pauses. It’s not quite late enough for her to be in bed. With a cursory glance into the kitchen - also empty - he carefully places the peace offering on the table beside her couch. Robin Hood grins merrily at him from his home behind her TV and Oliver scowls. He’s never mentioned it, and neither has she, but apparently Felicity has a _type_. A green-clad, arrow-wielding type. Shaking his head, he admits that it is one of the things he loves about her. 

Felicity likes what she likes, with no care as to what other people think. She loves Oliver, even though he’s sure she’s heard the horror stories of his youth. She believes in him and stands up for him and goes to crazy lengths to try and keep him safe every night.

He’s not quite sure how he lucked out, but somehow, Felicity Smoak loves him.

With a last glance around the room, he strides for Felicity’s bedroom. She must be in bed, he figures. Curled up with her tablet, or her laptop. Maybe with the new hardcover she’d mentioned twenty times before Oliver had bought it and left it on her desk with a sticky note on the inside cover. He imagines her in those blue fuzzy pants with the phone booths all over them and one of his shirts, glasses slipping down her nose. 

God, he loves when she wears his clothes. He’s not sure why. Laurel used to steal his clothes and parade around in them when they were together and it never evoked much emotion out of him. But when Felicity tugs on his sweatshirt or buttons up one of his dress shirts, this big, warm feeling seems to grow and nearly explode out of his chest and he can barely manage to keep his hands to himself.

Lost in thought, it takes him a moment to realize that Felicity is not in her bed. In fact, she’s not in her bedroom at all. He glances around. Her bathroom is dark. For a moment, he isn’t sure she’s even home and his heart gives a frantic thump because her door was unlocked and Felicity is obsessive about locking her door when she leaves. If her door was unlocked then- 

Oliver gives his head a hard shake and turns on his heel, ready to spring into action mode. Something is not right.

He’s two steps into the hallway when he registers the odd snuffling sound coming from behind him. He’s thrown open the door to Felicity’s bathroom, images of danger and death and blood in the forefront of his mind, before he even realizes he’s moved. This woman just makes him _feel so much_ and he doesn’t know if he can survive if she’s involved in another dangerous situation. 

Letting out a harsh breath, Oliver’s eyes dart around the room, adjusting to the dark. There’s no blood, no danger. Just Felicity, leaning against the bathtub, knees curled up to her chest, hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot.

His heart is in his throat because she looks defeated. 

He falters, taking a stumbling step into the room and she jerks her head up. Her eyes are red and puffy and she has clearly been crying. Making no move to wipe her face, her eyes meet his and he freezes. 

Desperation. Hope. Guilt. Emotions play across her face like she can’t settle on just one.

“Felicity,” he croaks. He doesn’t know what’s happening, why she is crying in her dark bathroom, but he needs to fix it. No one makes her cry. “Felicity, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer, just drops her head back to her knees with a heavy sigh. 

He doesn’t know if this is one of those times when she doesn’t want to be coddled and comforted but he doesn’t think he can stand here and not touch her when she looks so sad.

Her bathroom isn’t very big so he’s next to her in two steps, kneeling and reaching out a hand to her shoulder.

“Don’t.” Her voice stops him, hand hovering in the air inches away from her. He can feel the heat from her body and craves the feel of her skin against his, smooth velvet brushing against the callouses on his fingers, but he lets his hand drop back to his side.

He swallows, tries again. “Felicity. Talk to me. Let me help you,” he says gently, brow furrowed as he watches her shoulders jerk.

She laughs harshly. “I think you’ve helped enough.” She doesn’t lift her head so her words are muffled, and although the words hurt, he can tell there’s not much sentiment behind them. She just sounds tired.

He rests on his knees directly in front of her, waiting. It’s Felicity. Eventually the words will come pouring out.

He watches her, slim shoulders rising and falling, and they seem to slow as she regains her composure. He wishes she would look at him. They’ve always been able to read each other so well, been able to say so much with only a look.

She doesn’t look at him however, just stretches out a hand towards him, handing him a slim white stick he hadn’t noticed. He squints down at it, unsure, until she croaks, “Two lines. It’s positive.”

He’s pretty sure his stomach is now two floors below them, but his heart has this funny fluttering thing going on that he only gets with Felicity.

“I took three more. They’re on the counter.” Her voice is strangely monotone. She still hasn’t looked at him and he needs to see her face. He needs to see if she’s feeling this fledgling mixture of excitement and nerves and hope because if she’s right, they’ve created something that is going to be an incredible mixture of her and him and some days he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to have _her_ , let alone this. 

He takes the test from her and puts it on the ground beside him without looking at it. If she says it’s positive, it’s positive. This is Felicity. She’s the smartest person he knows. If anyone can tell the difference between one and two lines, it’s the woman in front of him. He gently brushes runaway hair from her forehead and uses his hand to turn her face towards his. 

Their eyes meet and Oliver feels something break inside of him because excitement is definitely not something Felicity is feeling at the moment. Her eyes are a turmoil of emotions that he can’t sort apart. He doesn’t even know if she can sort them apart herself.

“Talk to me, Felicity,” he says gently. His hands stroke over her hair, down her cheek. He cradles her face in his hand and she leans into it instinctively, some of the stress bleeding out of her features at the simple contact. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

She closes her eyes, as if steeling herself. “I’m pregnant.”

Oliver nods. “I had realized that, yes.”

“No.” Her eyes flash. “Oliver, _I’m pregnant_. As in, with child. Going to have a baby. Although it’s less of a baby at the moment and more of a mass of cells the size of a grain of rice. Maybe smaller. Or bigger. I don’t know how far along I am, but God- a baby! Eventually! Or in nine months or eight and a half and I don’t know what to do with a baby and neither do you and-”

He’s watching her mouth, seeing the life come back into her eyes, albeit a panicked, deer in the headlights kind of look. He leans forward, presses his lips to hers, slides a hand into her hair to hold her to him.

Her eyes are wide when he pulls back, her mouth slightly open.

“What- What was that for?”

He gives her a gentle smile, tries to put as much love and support into his face as they look at each other, only inches apart.

“No, Oliver. This is too much. This is moving way too fast. I am not ready for this, and you- you are definitely not ready. We can’t just bring a baby down to the Arrow Cave. There are so many pointy objects and sharp corners and-” She moans, bringing a hand to cover her face, and he can’t believe that he is the calm one in this situation.

He moves to sit beside her, his right side pressed against her left, back against the cold porcelain of the tub. Her hand is still pressed against her forehead and he reaches out to hold onto it, pulling it down between them and lacing their fingers together. Felicity looks over at him, panic still radiating off her, and somehow Oliver needs to diffuse this situation.

Running a hand across her knuckles, he meets her eyes. “It’s fast,” he agrees, giving her a small smile, one of the smiles that he saves just for Felicity. “But I love you. I love you,” he repeats firmly, “and I love that tiny mass of cells inside you and it is going to have the best parents. You are going to be a fantastic mother.” And he knows she’s insecure, that her parents weren’t the best role models, but he knows Felicity and she doesn’t let anything get the best of her.

Felicity seems to calm as he talks. She takes a big shuddery breath and grips his hand tightly. “But… What will everyone think? Having a baby with your secretary? If that doesn’t get the gossip mill going again, I don’t know what will. Your reputation…” She trails off, then exclaims, “and what about the whole Team Arrow business! I know you hate that name, but we _are_ a team. Well we’re going to be a team plus a baby, I guess. Maybe we need a new name.”

Oliver just smiles at her. How can he not? This beautiful woman is _his_. And now they are going to bring a new life into the world that’s going to be half him and half of her.

“Oliver.” She’s narrowing his eyes at him and he realizes he must have some kind of goofy grin on his face. “Why are you smiling like that? I mean, I just dropped some huge news on you and while I admit I am not reacting in the best manner, you’re kind of creeping me out…” Her voice fades, but his smile doesn’t.

Still holding her hand, he reaches for her face with his other hand, looking deep into her eyes. “I’m smiling because you make me happy. And this? This is scary, but at the same time, it’s not. We aren’t conventional. Our lives are crazy. But this is perfect. There is no one else I would ever want to do this with.” He watches the emotions move through her expression, until they clear.

She gives him a small, tremulous smile. “So we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” he whispers into her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

He pulls Felicity into his chest, and she curls into him, their bodies melding into one. His heart is pounding and the tiny nugget of excitement blooms in his chest and he honestly can’t remember a time when he felt more content.

**Author's Note:**

> I went a bit over the hour, but I wanted to do this piece justice. Thank you so much for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated.


End file.
